He Died Before His Death
by solaesce
Summary: Platinum. Sometimes, the people who you least expect to crack at the most unexpected times because of the secrets that chip away at them.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis…**

**Warning: Bullying, shonenai, um…character death, death by cutting, some blood?**

Once again, I polish a one shot started long long ago and decide to post it.

This is an AU, which is why many of the facts are not consistent with the manga or anime.

As always, reviews, criticism, etc, are all welcomed.

xXxXxXx

For Yagyuu Hiroshi, Niou Masaharu had been someone to be avoided.

All he really knew of the sly boy was his reputation. His reputation of shattering things, and then repairing them so they weren't quite the same. His reputation for being the most foul mouthed boy in the school. His reputation for being unpredictable and uncontrollable and _wild_.

He avoided the loner the same way he avoided his silly, obnoxious golf fangirls and everyone else who was, to him, the same as Niou Masaharu.

xXxXxXx

He knew that he couldn't avoid them forever, knew that in high school, one couldn't _not_ be bullied in one way or another.

But he did his best to remain inconspicuous, to stay hidden even as he worked his way through the golf club until he became known as ruthless and cold.

One who played to _win_ and win at all costs.

No matter _what_ the cost was.

xXxXxXx

He should have expected it, he thinks as a hand slams his head against the wall again.

He doesn't say a word, not a cry of pain, as the sneering voices become distant and he could only vaguely make out their faces as his glasses were viciously twisted and broken, as someone kicked him hard.

"Who do you think you are? Who are _you_ to be above us?" someone sneered as others jeered at the fallen boy, curled up in pain.

"_Freshman,"_ Someone spits out contemptuously.

xXxXxXx

It happens, many times, threats and anger directed at him as he beats the others in sports, in academics, the so-called 'teacher's pet.'

He knows what his tormentors do not know. He knows that he will never say a word, never cry out, and never crack.

He refuses to shatter as the other victims had.

xXxXxXx

He could remember the first time that Niou Masaharu spoke to him, the way he had somehow enticed the impassive boy to join the tennis team.

"Why...are you helping me?" he asked, bewildered.

The silver haired Trickster smirked at his naïvety, "I'm not helping you. I'm helping myself."

At his politely confused glance, the Trickster elaborated, "I need a doubles partner. I can't be a singles player, not with the Troika and the bratling."

The he snorted. "Man, I was told that you were smart."

xXxXxXx

He remembered the practices, feeling incredulity at the Regulars'...oddness.

It was the epitome of opposites: the angelic and demonic, stern and playful, mature and immature.

It was a team that he managed to fit in a way he never fit into the golf club. He enjoyed himself on that team because he was accepted.

It was a new feeling for him.

Being happy, that was.

xXxXxXx

He should have known better; should have realized that they wouldn't have let him go.

"_Did you think that we would stop? You uppity little fag."_

He hated them then, hated the way they hurt him, bruised his skin, jeered at him, but he hated himself even more for letting them hurt him.

But in the end, he was the Gentleman, a boy who clung to old habits relentlessly.

xXxXxXx

He remembered forcing himself to be perfectly normal, to not show the slightest wince of pain when Niou slung his arm over his shoulders, his hand never still, twirling his hair, patting a small crease in his clothes, looking through his pockets for candy.

It was only after he began insulting his tormentors, as he began to crack, as he became a bit more like Niou, that they got more vicious, beginning to draw blood when before they only bruised his pale skin.

It soon became habit for them to use him as a...punching bag, no matter how much he avoided them, but only when they began bringing a knife, drawing thin lines of blood across his once-unblemished skin, did he begin to shatter.

xXxXxXx

"Masaharu, I'll thank you to keep your hands to yourself!" he had snapped after Niou had scraped against a particularly painful bruise.

He had forced himself to walk away, ignoring the bewildered stares of his teammates, and the sharp, knowing glances of Yukimura.

He did not want them to know what a coward he was.

xXxXxXx

If he had cared, he might have been proud of how he had managed to avoid the entire tennis team, somehow even during practice.

Then as he was about to leave the locker room through the back door, he stopped as he saw Niou, casually leaning against the wall next to the door.

He had been waiting.

"Yagyuu." His voice was a low, husky purr, and he walked, no, _sauntered_, up to him, smirking.

But there was something...off about that smirk, something that the Gentleman couldn't quite put a finger to. "Niou-kun."

Niou shrugged, closer now. He could see that there was something odd in the Trickster's eyes as well, an emotion he had never seen before.

Then he froze in shock as Niou put his arms around his neck, resting his head underneath Yagyuu's chin, almost cuddling against the other boy.

"Yagyuu, I – I," Niou cut himself off and pressed his lips against his gently, and his mind grew blank, completely frozen.

Then, as Niou shifted position slightly, accidentally brushing against a welt, he flinched.

And Niou stopped, even taking a step backwards. He looked away. "It was just an experiment."

Then his eyes flickered back to Yagyuu's face, a blazing silver. "I thought that you gave a damn. I really did." He laughed bitterly, and Yagyuu flinched from the sound. "I guess I was wrong."

He walked away hastily, slamming the door behind him.

Yagyuu suddenly realized what the odd emotion was. It was nervousness. But Niou was never, ever nervous. Never.

Suddenly he realized something, the feeling that he had, perhaps, lost the best thing he ever had.

xXxXxXx

The next day, it was as though nothing ever happened.

Niou was just the _tiniest_ bit more aloof, the smallest bit more sarcastic, more _angry_. . .

And he almost, _almost_ avoided being near the Gentleman.

If Yagyuu hadn't known the Trickster so well, he would have sworn that he was the same as usual.

Then again, he avoided Niou, not wanting to be interrogated or stared at again, just as he avoided everyone else, friend or enemy.

Not much perhaps, but enough so that they would back off. Leave him alone.

They could make no difference.

How could they?

Why _would _they?

xXxXxXx

They respected his wishes, in a way.

He suspected that Yukimura had a large hand in that. The captain had always managed to do what was beyond impossible for others; in this case, controlling the Rikkai regulars.

And they left him alone.

Just as he wanted, even as he wanted them all to come back into his life.

He wanted their kind words, their warm laughter, full of life and innocent and happy.

He ached for happiness.

xXxXxXx

He had changed, he knew, though barely.

Quieter, certainly. Less conspicuous.

If had hadn't known better, he would have said that he had started to fade.

_Slowly disappearing from the world_, he thought wildly. _And one day I will be totally gone and no one will miss me because they will have all forgotten me that is how unimportant I am God I'm so cold why is it so cold in my room? I'm freezing but no one will care because I am worthless why couldn't I have been better I..._

xXxXxXx

He stared at the thin line of blood trickling down his arm, almost surprised by how much it had hurt, how much the thin red line had stung as he had dragged his pocketknife across his arm, pressing down hard, but almost waveringly.

He was afraid, so, so afraid, and the shock of fear and pain almost made him realize what he was doing, but then he remembered his life, and _God_, it was such a mess, and he _couldn't_ stand it anymore!

No, he thought dizzily as he made another cut, much deeper this time, and watched numbly as blood trickled out nonstop.

_I can't._

_I'm sorry. I can't. I'm sorry. Don't be sad for me, Mother, Father... Don't._

_I'm sorry, Niou-kun. Niou-kun, I -_

xXxXxXx

_At age 16, Yagyuu Hiroshi, respected straight-A student and famous tennis player, died when he slit his wrists._

_It is unknown whether his death was intentional, as evidence of former cuts were found._

_His funeral will be held on this Saturday. Please come and respect the death of one who could have become someone in the world._

- _Tennis Weekly _Journalist, Taichi Dan

xXxXxXx

Niou never did manage to find the time in his busy schedule to attend Yagyuu's funeral.


End file.
